come and spend some time with mr. wrong

[theworstmagician]

Who: Marty, Will and OPEN
What: Mr. Hair tries to loot shops and fight monsters.
Where: Various places.
When: Any time over the course of the plot
Notes: This is a generic opening for Marty; you can assume he's doing this to several shops, so if you want to tag in, feel free to pick and choose what kind of shop you find him in.
Warnings: Violence, probably.

Some people never learn. Marty Williams is one of those people. In the past few days, he's used more magic than he had in weeks. This meant that it was bound to come crashing down on him somehow-- the fun was in finding out how and when. Hell, for all Marty knew, his magic didn't work the same in Baedal. Maybe it was easier to manage. Really, he wouldn't know unless he tried.

So, when he touches a doorknob and focuses his mind on disorder and disintegration, concentrates on shifting the smallest particles that made up the metal, tampering with the doorknob at its basest levels, he's really just testing the limits of his magic.

All things fall apart. He's just speeding up the process in three... two...

He jiggles the knob, smirking to himself when the door easily comes open. Sucks for the shopkeeper, whoever he is-- his lock's thoroughly broken now. 'Course, he probably has bigger things to worry about right now, like the bone dragon Marty saw flying around earlier.

Keeping a firm grip on his bloodied lead pipe, Marty enters the shop and begins looking around for valuables to loot.

He'd make a joke about being from New Orleans right now-- hey, this is how we roll in a post-Katrina world-- but the truth is: Marty's never looted anything before showing up in... what's this place called again? Beedle or something.

(Way to pay attention, Marty.)

Whatever, it's Monsterville now. And even though he's new to the whole "pillaging and plundering" business, Marty's finding that it comes surprisingly naturally to him. Maybe because this kind of thing's easy to do when the world's going to hell.

Comments

[charismatic]

Will doesn't answer for a moment, eyebrows climbing as close to his hairline as they can get. He understands not being particularly invested in fighting monsters, especially as someone new, and the cavalier attitude isn't exactly earthshaking, but somehow it's still surprising.

“It's not really a good time to go shopping,” he says. 'Shopping.'

[theworstmagician]

Now it's time for Marty's brow to go up. "You think I'm shopping?" Shopping implies that he's going to leave money. Marty shrugs. "Green's better." He holds the shirt up to his chest and leans up to Will. "Brings out my eyes, don't you think?"

Yeah, he's just messing with the guy now. He pulls on the shirt and begins to button it. "I think a leather jacket will complete the ensemble." Pause. "So what're you doing here if you're not 'shopping'?"

[charismatic]

“Getting back from a rescue mission,” Will says, frowning at Marty. He's really only heading back to his apartment to clean up a little and eat something – maybe spend half an hour in plainclothes – and then he'll be heading back out to see if he can help with anything. Collaborating so closely with the militia makes him uneasy, but there isn't much choice right now. They're willing to protect the general public against the invading monsters, at least, even if no one knows what's going on. “Was this really your first thought?”

[theworstmagician]

"What are you, a cop?" he asks dismissively, but it's clear that Marty's attention's set to bigger and better things, namely the leather jacket he's just plucked from a hanger. He shrugs it on and steps in front of one of the display mirrors. He gives a manly twirl and pose, just making sure it's not too "80s biker" or something. At Will's question, Marty seems to come back down to reality.

"It became a priority when this little monster frog almost tore the crotch out of my pants." He smirks and taps at his leg. "Denim's durable."

That Marty. He's a planner. He moves over to his backpack, kicking aside the pile made up of his old clothes. Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a bottle of unidentifiable liquor.

"This was my first thought."

And he takes a drink.

[charismatic]

Will's eyebrows jump again, though this time it's more distaste than anything. “I'm glad you have your priorities in order,” he says, not even attempting to keep his tone neutral. He can't get too indignant on anyone's behalf – for all he knows, the shop proprietors are dead – but he definitely doesn't approve. “Maybe you should come to the safehouse,” he says. “It's warded and it keeps the monsters out.” And someone could babysit this guy and keep him from ripping more people off, maybe.

[theworstmagician]

Hey, don't judge, man. Marty shrugs and takes a drink. This stuff, whatever it is, is a little fruity for his tastes, but it'll do the trick, keep his nice buzz going while he hides out from monsters and goes on a nice shopping spree while he's at it.

"They're doing me right so far," he counters, setting the bottle back down. He saunters over to one of the racks and begins thumbing through shirts. Might as well grab a few outfits, just in case.

"Yeah, I'll go. I mean, once I'm done." He turns to Will and grins. "There's a whole city to explore first." Wiiiink. Right. 'Explore.'

Pause.

Wait.

"There's a safehouse?"

How are you still alive, Marty?

[charismatic]

Will has no idea. And he doesn't really want to know, probably.

“Yes,” he says, dragging the syllable out. Pay attention, Marty. He just told you that. “There are a few, actually. It helps cut down on the number of people becoming monster snacks.”

[theworstmagician]

"Yeah, well." Marty pulls a shirt off the hanger and holds it up to his chest. Hmm. Burgundy. That's flattering, right? "I can take the monsters." Of course, 'can' doesn't mean he actually wants to, so he's filing that safe house tidbit away for later. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Like the gun he found on a dead guy. It's pretty cool-- all old timey, like a six shooter or something. And it still has four bullets left, which he made a point of imbuing with some good luck. Currently, that special gun is wrapped up in his backpack with his other ill-gotten gains.

He tosses the shirt aside and starts inspecting the others. So absorbed in, well, himself is he that when something groans from the back room of the shop, he doesn't even notice.

[charismatic]

“Well,” Will says, back up a little into the most open part of the shop – the should really go outside, probably, if they get the chance – “you're probably going to have to try them out.” He's not sure what that sounds like – doesn't care what it sounds like, really, but it's not good. “We've got company.”

Granted, other than the 'horrible monster intent on eating my face' factor, Will kind of figures he's already scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of people he'd like to be hanging out with. It could be worse, he supposes. At least Marty seems like he knows his way around that pipe.